


melt for me

by chocolatemoon



Series: our love is gonna conquer it all [2]
Category: Soy Luna (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, a tiny sliver of angst, anyway here are some more feelings and a few thousand words of luna's optimism, or maybe it's hurt/comfort, whatever it is it's brief 'cause i don't write angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatemoon/pseuds/chocolatemoon
Summary: She's always been a firm believer in the goodness in people.





	melt for me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is connected to "burn for you", although you don't need to read that one first in order to understand this one.
> 
> Originally posted on my tumblr.

**i.**

Outside her open window the rain has turned into a drizzle.

The morning is early; hours left until her alarm will go off, the world quiet and tranquil. She doesn’t understand why she’s still awake. Her bed is cozy and warm, and combined with the calming background noise from the rain, it’s the perfect setting for any normal teenager who won’t function properly if she doesn’t get enough sleep. She can already hear her mother’s worried questions that surely will ensue at the sight of her tired eyes and sluggish movements.

It’s not her fault, not really; she didn’t _choose_ this. She never chose to fall for someone who can be so frustrating. Never agreed to put her name on a binding contract stating that her heart’s forever his to hold.

All of this reminds her of when she was a child and learned that the moon is in control of the tide. Now it seems that, despite her namesake, _she_ is the one without any control. She’s being pulled back to Matteo over and over again, unable to stop herself. A wave forced to meet the shore. A pendulum swinging back and forth between _I can’t stand you_ and _You’re the only one I want_.

Disliking Matteo (or trying not to be _in love_ with him, which is more accurate) is like swimming against the current; an impossible task that weakens her, wears her down. She’s navigating a sea she’s never sailed before, lost without any maps to guide her. Emotions are crashing into her, attacking from every direction, threatening to pull her under into the deep blue.

She really, really, really misses him.

She really, really, really shouldn’t.

 _So this must be how the ocean feels_ , she reflects as she tosses and turns in her bed, wide-awake as ever. There’s no bitterness or resentment to it. Being bitter won’t solve anything.

Neither will being sad, but this situation has left her powerless.

 

**ii.**

Matteo’s asleep.

Which leads to two thoughts.

One: no rational person would take a nap in the park with all their friends present as if it were a totally normal thing to do.

Two: he has no right whatsoever to look this beautiful when he isn’t even conscious. (Which isn’t necessarily something negative. If she called him beautiful, and he heard her, he’d be unbearable.)

His eyes are closed, his lips set in a neutral line, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The foliage above them has created an intricate pattern on his face, and she’s studying the delicate shadows on his cheeks. Bittersweet memories of carefree smiles and timid kisses flicker in her mind.

It’s been three months since they broke up. Strange how the world can move on while she’s stuck, frozen in the same place emotionally. There have been instances when they appear to be alright again. When he’s the snob who’s got nothing to lose and she’s the girl with the clueless heart. When they’re laughing like old friends. Exchanging teasing remarks like a second nature.

“Luna,” says a female voice in the periphery, “are you even listening?”

“Mmm?” She tears her eyes away from Matteo. Only now comes the realization that she’s been staring at him like some kind of creep.

Nina and Gastón are both watching her, now standing up. Everyone else has gotten up and left.

“We’re going to get some food,” Nina explains, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder. “Do you want anything?”

“I don’t–I’m fine. Not really hungry.”

“Good, because someone has to stay and keep an eye on Matteo.” Gastón grins. “Can’t leave him all alone, can we? Besides, you appear to be doing an excellent job of that already.”

Her face heats up. Gastón means well – of course he does – but some things he should keep to himself, no?

Nina smiles apologetically. “We’ll be back soon,” she says, and throws Luna one last glance before she and Gastón catch up with the rest of the group, leaving her alone with Matteo. Her gaze drifts towards him.

_Is he really not awake?_

She tilts her head to the side, examines his expressionless face. He certainly looks like he’s sleeping. Peaceful and without any worries. There’s an itching sensation in her fingertips; a longing to reach out, to touch. She looks away. Picks at a few straws of grass, then balls up her hands into fists until the pain of fingernails digging into skin is stronger than the temptation.

She’s promised herself that she won’t get drawn in by his charms again – a promise she continues to break in one way or another, but it’s always easier said than done, isn’t it?

What is it with Matteo that’s so fascinating anyway? He’s the most infuriating person she’s ever met. Arrogant and self-absorbed and smug. He can be mean to a point that’s almost unbelievable.

But she _knows_ him now, truly knows him, even though he insists that she doesn’t. She knows the sentimental boy that exists beneath the pretense, and all that he’s capable of once he puts his pride aside.

Eight minutes later when he wakes up, she’ll tell him about the others’ absence and he’ll give her some witty (and perhaps also a little bit flirty) comment, which will make her smile, even though she shouldn’t let it.

 

**iii.**

She’s always been a firm believer in the goodness in people.

As she’s gotten older she’s learned the hard way that some people don’t deserve that kind of undying faith. In some cases, they don’t get lured in by the darkness – they willingly seek it out.

Matteo doesn’t belong to that category. He has too good of a heart for it to ever be true. It’s not wishful thinking, it’s a fact. While he has provided her with plenty of reasons to give up on him already, there’s still something lingering, telling her that she’s doing the right thing by holding on.

However, a person who never (or rarely) admits he’s wrong won’t change his mind overnight, which means that there’s nothing left she can do but hope. Waiting for an apology is awfully a lot like wandering through the desert and expecting rain. How long will it take until shades of gray are clouding up the skies? She’s getting tired of the drought.

One day she runs into him while walking home from school. They talk, and it’s … _simple_. Like it used to be. Before the fights and the lies and the pain. Before love entered her life and made his voice the soundtrack of all of her daydreams.

“I’m sorry,” he says out of nowhere.

She stops in her tracks, stunned. Matteo’s face doesn’t give anything away. His eyes are looking into hers, determined yet gentle.

“If you’re ever going to believe anything I say, let it be this: I’m sorry, Luna, I truly am. For everything.”

Usually, he’d tell her so many things that she wouldn’t be able to keep up – not today. The simplicity cuts deeper than any long-winded speech ever could. Luna doesn’t know what to do, what to say, or even what to feel. Thoughts are spinning in her head far beyond the preferred speed limit.

Matteo keeps looking at her like he’s searching for something; perhaps some kind of sign that she’ll give him a reply. When she doesn’t, he nods, as if she’s spoken anyway, and breaks eye contact. He mumbles a “see you later”, and leaves before she has the chance to stop him.

 

**iv.**

“Can you just … hold me?”

She waits. It might have been stupid – really, _really_ stupid – to ask that sort of thing of him. He’d just come to remind her that the rink is closing for the night, and her careless mouth acted before her brain could produce a suitable response.

To her surprise (and yes, relief, _great_ relief), he wraps his arms around her without uttering a word, and she holds him as tightly as she dares to. She allows herself one minute of this; one short minute in which she can close her eyes, breathe in his scent, and forget about the line they’re not supposed to cross.

(If she makes a plea to the stars, begs the universe with all her might, will it show her something reliable?

 _Again, again, again_ , comes a greedy whisper from within her rib cage, _I want this again._ )

She lets go of him. Takes a small step back, and leaves her hands hanging in the air between them, palms turned upwards. It doesn’t take long before Matteo does the same, and for a moment it’s all they do; comparing their hands and the veins on their wrists that run like rivers underneath skin.

“Hey, delivery girl,” he says softly, and her eyes sting with unshed tears. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep, but I can promise you one thing. I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you happy, even if it’s not with me.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she says, sniffling, blinking repeatedly so she won’t cry. “Don’t say that.”

Matteo stays silent. He takes her hands in his. She can’t meet his gaze, terrified she’ll see something in it that she isn’t ready for. Whatever he might come up with next, she’s got something she needs to do first. If she doesn’t listen to her heart now, she’ll regret it for the rest of her life.

“You know what would make me the happiest?” she manages to ask him. “You and me. A second chance. I know we could make it work.”

He contemplates it. “Do you want me to …?”

Seconds pass, and he doesn’t finish the sentence, but she hears the ending echo inside of her: _Do you want me to stay?_

“More than anything.” She sounds exactly like she’s feeling on the inside; desperate, pining, hopeful. Always hopeful. “Please, Matteo.”

“Luna …” he starts, and she prepares for the worst. If he’s being this apprehensive, she almost wishes he’d put an end to her misery quick. Rip off the band-aid so the pain will be brief.

(Has she stopped breathing? Has all of the air escaped the room? Her lungs suddenly feel very, very empty.)

She musters up enough courage to look up at his face. And God was she right – nothing could’ve prepared her for what she finds in his dark eyes.

Matteo opens his mouth. This is really happening. He’s really going to reject her, tell her she’s crazy for saying they should be together again, that they’ve been down this road before, that even though they love each other it’s not enough, and how can it possibly–

“I’m all yours.” A pause, and then, in a lower voice, even though they’re alone: “I don’t think I ever stopped being yours.”

Hearing this, she loops her arms around his neck, and he hugs her close to him, his hands gently stroking her back as she begins to cry.

 

**v.**

There’s still some hesitation drifting around.

Well, _hesitation_ isn’t the right word – _mindfulness_ , that’s what she’s sensing.

Maybe it’s the open wounds that haven’t been sealed yet. Maybe it’s the ice they’ve guarded themselves with that has to melt first. Whatever the cause is, it’s made their relationship different this time around. They’re not older by much, but they’ve learned their lesson. They communicate openly now. Make an effort to work through their issues, to see eye to eye. Luna tries to not be so stubborn. Matteo tries listening to other people (emphasis on _tries_ – she swears the boy’s a master at pushing her buttons). She doesn’t put too high expectations on him. He doesn’t take her for granted.

Sometimes she gets the feeling that he thinks she’s too good for him, and it sinks deep into her core. He treats her as though there’s a glowing halo over her head, like she’s his salvation, the answer to his prayers. It’s so heavy – the appearance of always being the strong one – but for him, she’ll bear it. She’d do anything to make him understand that she loves him as much as he loves her, that she wants him beside her, for life.

Yes, he’s a bit of a jerk sometimes. And yes, he can get jealous for no apparent reason. And _yes_ , his snobbish attitude–

Point is, she doesn’t love him in spite of his flaws. If he wasn’t all these things, he wouldn’t be the same person, and then she never would have fallen for him to begin with.

Even when he’s driving her absolutely crazy, she knows she wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**vi.**

(The first time she says _I love you_ in Italian, he looks like he might cry.

And then he’s smiling, grinning, actually, and Luna’s heart is flooded with emotion, pure and forceful and _right_.)

 

**vii.**

There’s a storm going on outside, wind raging and raindrops drumming against the windows. Their dark bedroom is a safe haven, light coming from the open door so it’s not completely pitch black.

It’s one of those nights again; Matteo just _crumbles_. He’s quiet, deep in thought, criticizing himself for whatever recent mistake he’s made. He’s allowing himself to be vulnerable – if only for a moment.

Luna presses a feather-light kiss to his shoulder. If she could chase away the hurt, kiss it better, she would. She cups his face in her hands, his stubbled jaw slightly rough against her skin, and looks into his eyes. She searches her brain for a consolation that won’t sound like pity.

In the end, she whispers, “I believe in us. I believe in _you_.” Not because it’s a statement that shouldn’t be said out loud, but because it’s so, so important. He’ll hear it regardless of the volume.

And Matteo doesn’t speak, but the look in his eyes says it all.

 

**viii.**

“So, what do you think? Do you like it?”

“ _Like_ it?” Her smile must be on the same level as the sun in terms of brightness. “It’s the best song I’ve ever heard!”

He adjusts the guitar in his lap, grinning. “You say that about all of my songs.”

“Because I love them all, duh,” she replies. “Could you play it again?”

As soon as she hears the first few chords, the initial excitement rushes through her body once more. She can’t believe he wrote a song for their first wedding anniversary. Or, okay, that isn’t entirely true – she just can’t believe he still finds new ways to use his music to tell her how much he loves her. You’d think he’d be done flattering her with his lyrics by now.

They haven’t quite sobered up from the red wine they had earlier, sitting on the living room floor instead of the furniture (how they ended up there, she can’t remember, though she suspects it has something to do with the alcohol). She listens attentively to the words he’s singing, his voice smooth and clear. It’s a beautiful song; meant to give her serenity and soothe her fears.

She starts singing along to the chorus once she gets the hang of it. Somewhere towards the end of the song, one of them messes up the lyrics (they try to blame each other the next day when discussing it … but it’s probably her), which leads to the other one snickering, and not long after that, they’re both lying sprawled on the floor, laughter erupting from them, loud and unfiltered.

Once the amusement has settled, she crawls over to him. Plants a kiss or two or seven all over his face. Takes the guitar from his grip and puts it away, so that he can hold her instead. The floor is uncomfortable as hell, but they’re too caught up in their cuddling to care.

He kisses her forehead, then the tip of her nose. Her eyes close as he brushes his lips against hers, a brief touch before he moves on to her jaw, up to her ear, releasing a low chuckle when she makes a noise of disapproval, because he shouldn’t tease her and yet he does. So he brings his mouth back to hers. Mumbles a couple of _I love you_ ’s that she echoes back to him before giving her a long kiss, filled with so much intensity that she wouldn’t be surprised if there are stars and planets and rainbows drawn in a colorful cartoon style surrounding them.

And she thinks, as they are so close to each other they are almost one, hearts beating in sync, that she wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world.

(Or the galaxy.)

(Or anything beyond that.)

 

**ix.**

Their love is evergreen.

Not in the sense that it’s perfect all year round, but in that it can persevere the harshness of even the coldest winter, and live to see another spring.

He describes loving her as fire; exhilarating and unpredictable and warm. Like a rollercoaster ride. Rays of sunshine on bare shoulders. Smiling wide until it physically hurts. Fireworks in the sky and sparks in their eyes. Never knowing what to expect, but enjoying every second of it.

Although it pleases her, knowing the effect she has on him, her perspective on it is not very similar to his. In the things he blames emotional turmoil, she discovers a sanctuary. Loving Matteo is hearing a song that sounds like home. A harmony that speaks to the soul. A pair of watercolors fading into each other to create something new.

She’s energetic, always in motion, a hurricane of dreams and ideas. Matteo keeps her focused, steadies her with encouraging words and comforting touches.

They thought they were so different from each other – have been told that through the years by strangers as well as friends – but nowadays they know better. Matteo is just as brave as Luna; his passion just as vibrant as hers.

Perhaps that’s why they work so well together.

 

**x.**

“You’re the best,” he says as he walks into the kitchen, where she’s pouring a bag of potato chips into a bowl.

“What, isn’t the number one spot saved for you?” she teases.

There’s a shout coming from the living room, where most of their friends have gathered for the evening, and they both turn their heads, as if they can see through the walls. When it seems to be nothing serious, they look at each other again.

“It was …” Matteo leans slightly back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is one of her favorites; the perfect combination of charismatic and smug. “… until I met you, and realized I was wrong.”

“Matteo, Matteo.” She shakes her head. “Sweet-talking won’t get you anywhere.”

He smirks, holding up his left hand and pointing to his ring finger as if she doesn’t already know there’s a wedding band on it. “This thing right here would beg to differ.”

“Oh my, how can I argue such foolproof logic,” she says, a tenderness in her voice, and he smiles, wide and content. So she smiles, too, because what else can she do? It’s impossible to resist when he looks this happy.

“I mean it. You’re the best, Luna. The best person in the entire universe.”

A small laugh slips out of her. “Don’t let Gastón hear you say that.” She puts her arms around his neck, and he wraps his arms around her, drawing her closer. She kisses his cheek. “You have your moments, too.”

“Thank you,” he replies, and she senses that he isn’t only referring to their current conversation, but something else. Something greater. A larger-than-life-kind of thing, possibly.

(The implication could’ve scared her, but not today, not here, with all their friends present, and the feeling in their guts that everything’s slowly falling into place.)

“No problem,” she says right as people start cheering and shouting about something that’s going on in the other room.

Matteo raises his eyebrows, but other than that, he doesn’t react to the sudden stream of loud noises, just continues holding her gaze.

She kisses him, softly. “I’ve got you, and you’ve got me, remember? Simple as that.”

He smiles and she smiles back and soon they’re kissing again.


End file.
